


a violent yet flammable world

by unethicalcoffee



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender, She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Gen, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22366879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unethicalcoffee/pseuds/unethicalcoffee
Summary: She thinks about it being theirs, and about it meaning nothing when she pretended it wasn’t real, except when it made Catra smile. How Catra never cared because she was still Adora, always just Adora. And now she’s the Avatar and they want her to lead everyone to victory, to end the war — and why couldn’t it just be theirs, and soft and quiet and unspoken?Avatar: The Last Airbender AU.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1

Catra’s laugh is squeaky and loud and genuine. When Adora is worlds away, she will remember this, and she will miss it. For now, she tells Catra to shush, or the General will hear them. 

“I’m sorry, Adora,” she half-breathes, trying to quiet herself, “but there’s no _way_.” She puts her hand on Adora’s shoulder, trying to assure her, Adora supposes, that she’s not making fun of her. Except she is.

“I _swear_ , Catra,” she nearly hisses, though it’s more plea than derision. As frustrating as it might be, she understands why even her best friend wouldn’t believe her right away, so she changes tactics. “I’ll show you.”

Catra raises an eyebrow, and her mismatched eyes glisten. Of course, Adora thinks, she really should have started with that, rather than _talking_ to her of all things.

“Alright,” says Catra. She shifts her weight onto her feet, lifting herself from the futon effortlessly. “Let’s go.”

Adora knows what Catra is thinking, and she nods. She too moves onto her feet, taking Catra’s outstretched hand not because she needs the help, but to accept the gesture of trust. The pair of them glide soundlessly from their sleeping quarters, shared with their fellow soldiers, without waking a soul. With all the grace of two firebending protégés — in Adora’s book at least, if not Weaver’s — they slip into the night. The air is heavy with the age-old humidity of any Fire Nation dusk, but also the rush of disobedience, the hope and fear of revelation. Adora swallows. She kneels by the turtle duck pond in the courtyard, and motions for Catra to do the same.

“You know,” Catra hums, “I’ll have to report you to the Fire Lord if—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Adora snaps. Catra’s only joking, of course, but it really isn’t funny. Her heart feels heavy in her throat and she wonders if perhaps she should have waited, given herself some time to master it, to make sure she isn’t just dreaming, at the very least. But it’s too late for that now, even if she could. She doesn’t look at Catra, but takes her silence as an apology; then she closes her eyes and breathes deeply, holding her hand about a foot from the surface of the water. _Water is the element of change_ , she thinks. The words flow into her mind unbidden, like she’s heard them somewhere before. At first, she had resisted; now she accepts. _Push_ , she breathes, _and pull_.

A group of unsuspecting turtle ducks are jolted, suddenly, into awakeness, squawking and splashing at the surface of the water. Adora opens her eyes and watches a small wave move with the ebb and flow of her wrist, feels the moonlight gentle on her skin.

“Holy shit, Adora,” she hears. She drops her hand and turns back to Catra. Her friend’s slack-jawed expression makes her feel a little smug, and she wants to say _I told you so_ but the fear creeps back in.

“Please,” she says, “don’t tell _anyone_.”

And to Catra’s credit, she doesn’t. 

“Again!”

Adora bristles. More than anything, she wants to lift her hand to her head, wipe off the sweat, (it feels like a bloody second skin at this point) but she knows to move a hair out of line would be perilous. So, like a coward — no, there’s no _‘like’_ about it, she tells herself — she merely resumes her stance, searching for Catra’s eyes again. Catra is losing her patience quickly, Adora can tell; she’s rigidly straightening her back and scraping her razor black nails over her hairline into her thick dark hair. _You can do this_ Adora tries to communicate, offering a small, tired smile and a just-perceptible nod. What she _wants_ to do is drop her stance, walk away, be brave. Hold her and tell her she’s worth a thousand worlds and Weaver doesn’t know _shit_. But Catra doesn’t know that, she doesn’t see it — and whose fault is that but Adora’s? She swallows, watching as Catra’s eyes narrow further. Her fault.

“Again, you _insolent_ child!”

Before Adora can even _try_ to put aside the fear and the thousand horrible ways that being brave could go wrong — all of which she _vividly_ envisions at once — Catra is hurling at her like lightning, fire bursting from the tips of her fingers and the balls of her feet, _screeching_. Adora knows this set like the back of her hand — they’ve drilled it so many times just today she can barely see anything else when she closes her eyes — but she’s tired, she doesn’t have any fight left in her, and she knows this isn’t fair. She barely leaps out of Catra’s way, but of course, this isn’t what Weaver chooses to criticise.

“Firebending,” the General repeats, appearing between them and grabbing, _clawing_ at Catra’s shoulders, “is in the _breath_. It is the flow of energy, not raw power!”

“What would _you_ know about firebending?” Catra hisses. Adora holds her breath as Weaver releases her. 

“General,” Adora says at last, “she didn’t mean—” 

It’s no use. In the blink of an eye, Weaver is curling her fingers, the rest of her body perfectly still, and Catra is squirming, _crying,_ struggling against an invisible force that looks like it’s _stealing_ her body, and Adora’s hesitation is dead, gone. Or, at least, she takes Weaver’s arm and begs her to stop. After a long moment, Catra drops to the floor with a cold, heavy slam.

“Adora,” the General coos, at last, relaxing her hands. “Get your pet out of my sight.”

Adora plays General Weaver’s words over and over in her mind, tries to breathe. _In._ She thinks of moving the water in the turtle duck pond, the moon on her skin, and Catra’s wide eyes. _Out,_ thinks of rocks thrown in dangerous childish games, slowing to a snail’s pace and falling to the ground before they can hit her. _In,_ of Catra watching the cherry blossom trees in wonder, of wanting to make her smile, of twisting her own wrist and watching the wind gift them to her, to land at her brown feet and catch in her dark hair. _Out._ She thinks about it being _theirs,_ and about it meaning nothing when she pretended it wasn’t real, except when it made Catra smile. _In,_ how Catra never cared because she was still Adora, always just Adora. And now she’s the _Avatar_ and they want her to _lead_ everyone to victory, to end the war — and why couldn’t it just be _theirs,_ and soft and quiet and unspoken? Why did she have to be so _weak_? Her head is spinning. _Breathe._ But she can’t, so she runs. She just… runs.

Before she knows what she’s done, Adora has crept out of the barracks, taking a moment to silence Catra’s stirrings with a slow stroke of her hair (usually indicative that she’s just going to the bathroom, that she’ll be right back and everything will be okay). Adora feels _really_ guilty about this, and that feeling will haunt her, but for now she’s focusing on getting as far away as she can — and in her defence, at this stage, she’s still thinking of returning, maybe taking Catra with her, she doesn’t know; she just knows that she needs to get out, _now,_ get away, be on her own. She needs space. She steals out of the Fire Nation capital and onto the docks, then she _actually_ steals a boat and now she’s on her way — she doesn’t know where — just _far_ away, wherever that takes her. Adora inhales deeply. She takes in the fresh, salty air. Now she’s thinking about it, she’s never been on the sea, or near the sea. It’s... kind of amazing, actually.

Eventually, a few nights of aimless sailing leads her to a small island. As soon as it comes into view Adora catches what looks like a small town in the distance, and a grand wooden figure of a woman. She’s too far away to see the details but it stirs something warm and familiar and sad in her that she... really doesn’t have the headspace to unpack yet. As she steers her boat onto the shore, she tries to clear her mind, focus on what to do next. She’s coherent enough to know she’s not in the Fire Nation anymore (her heart almost jumps out of her chest at that — she’s never left the Fire Nation before, fuck, _fuck_ ) and it won’t go down well if anyone sees her in red. But she doesn’t own anything that _isn’t_ red (of course she doesn’t, she’s never left the Fire Nation before, _idiot_ ); even the cloak she had thrown over her shoulders as she made her escape was a deep, bloody colour. Reluctantly, she chooses to strip down to her underclothes, which aren’t too un-modest, at least. She’s only wearing a simple black hair-tie, but she’d brought her military headpiece along with her, in her pocket, to anxiously fumble with so that she could, she doesn’t know, still feel connected somehow? Adora doesn’t _want_ to get rid of it, but — _shit_. Ignoring the dull ache in her stomach, she gathers her things and sets them aflame. 

She tells herself she can still go back. For Catra. She doesn’t really believe it though. 

“Is she… you know…”

Adora is awoken suddenly, by an impolite and not-at-all measured prodding of her head. 

“I’m alive,” she groans, opening her eyes. The two figures standing over her jolt back, the small bright one with the stick into a particularly defensive stance, she notes. The sun is in her eyes — not to mention she’s groggy from falling asleep on the sand, mentally and physically exhausted — so Adora begins to sit up and tries to make out their appearances a little more clearly. The small one has bright pink hair (pink! _pink!_ ) which clashes garishly with her dark green Earth Kingdom garb. Said garb seems to be — if Adora’s not mistaken — _glistening_? (Is that a trick of the light? Or is it just… glitter?) The taller one, who seems significantly less sceptical of her, is presumably also Earth Kingdom, but no less daring in his fashion choices. His tunic (if you can really call it that) is sleeveless and looks like it’s been bitten in half by a moose lion, his abs in plain view. Despite being the less aggressive of the two, he carries a bow and quiver slung over his shoulder, while the small pink one is unarmed. Adora gauges the pair are bender and non-bender.

“Sorry,” says the tall one, “it’s just… you’re kind of washed up on the beach, no belongings as far as we can see, in nothing but your underclothes.”

Yeah, Adora has to admit that must look pretty weird from their perspective, but at least not as suspicious as it might have been otherwise. She doesn’t think her response through, just blurts out whatever falsehood comes to mind. She feels her temperature rising, and counts down the seconds before they poke a hole in her story. Catra was always the one who slithered out of these situations, wove words like protection and never got them tangled — Adora sighs. 

“I escaped from a Fire Nation prison. Didn’t really know where was I headed, ended up here I guess.” She looks around, maybe a little too exaggeratedly. “Where is here?”

“Oh, you poor thing!” The tall one kneels beside her and clasps her hands. She bristles a little at the invasion of personal space, jerking back, but she also can’t help but smile. He seems… genuine. “This is Mara Island, you’ll be safe here!” This earns him a razor sharp look from his companion, which Adora really can’t hold against her. Good instincts. “I’m Bow,” he continues, “and this is Glimmer.”

“I’m Adora,” tumbles out of her mouth before she can stop it. _Idiot_. 

“That’s an _adora-ble_ name!” He grins. Glimmer hits him with the stick, before dropping it. She loosens her stance, softens a little, but not completely.

“Alright, Adora,” she says at last, “Let’s get some clothes on you and some food in you.”

As Adora follows Bow and Glimmer away from the waterfront, her eyes stay fixed on the statue whose outline she had glimpsed when she first washed onto shore. In fact, she feels less like she’s following her new acquaintances, and more like she’s been transfixed by the wooden figure, that it’s pulling her towards it.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

She glances over at Bow as he speaks. He’s smiling at her, knowingly (but what does he know?), and waiting for her to speak. She bites.

“Who is that?” she asks. To her surprise, Glimmer is the one who reels it in.

“That’s Avatar Mara,” she says, “for whom this island is named.” She pauses, presumably measuring how much she should say, but Bow beats her to the punch.

“My dads are historians at Ba Sing Se university,” he says, “but we, uh, me and my brothers that is, we grew up here, on the island. This is where she was born.”

Adora blinks, looking at Mara again. It feels like she’s looking right back.

Adora spends about a week, maybe, on Mara. The people of the island are deeply hospitable, and despite Glimmer’s clear nagging curiosity, she (like the others) does not probe her about her past, or who she is. She’s especially thankful for the latter, considering she hardly feels like she knows, herself, who she might be after all.

Bow teaches her what he knows about Avatar Mara, thrilled with her interest. Adora wonders why he didn’t become a historian himself, thinking he’d make a fine one if he wanted to, but it’s none of her business, so she doesn’t ask. They are mutually respectful of one another’s boundaries, quickly falling into step, comfortable with one another. Adora begins to wonder if she might stay, pretend she never found out she was the Avatar, find a way to contribute to the delicate symbiosis of this community and live a peaceful life, in obscurity. Of course, both in waking and in dreams, she remembers the war. And she remembers Catra.

“This island seems untouched by the war,” she ventures, one day. She observes Bow and Glimmer’s reactions keenly; Bow, always the more legible of the two, looks uncomfortable, and tries to exchange a look with the more unforthcoming Glimmer. It seems she’s giving him as little to go on as she is Adora, though, so he gives in, and just-perceptibly shrugs.

“Honestly, Adora, we aren’t sure if we should talk about this. I like you, and I respect your space, like, whatever you’re running from is behind you and all that. But we don’t know who you are or where you’re from, so…”

“You kind of _scream_ Fire Nation spy,” Glimmer interjects suddenly, “or, like, escaped Fire Nation… person, or…” she gradually reddens, evidently embarrassed that words aren’t on her side, that she hadn’t thought this through, “ _whatever_ , so you better tell us who we’re talking to before we tell you anything!”

Adora blinks. “If you— if you thought I was Fire Nation, why has everyone been so… like, helpful? And… giving?”

Bow laughs. Adora finds herself pouting; what could possibly be funny? What is she missing?

“Well, not everyone agrees, but on the whole we decided, like, you’re a person? And you were starving, and, you know, didn’t have any clothes or anything… so of course we helped you.” His look turns serious. “Doesn’t mean we’d help you with _the war_ , though.”

Adora’s head feels light all of a sudden. Just — just because she’s a person? 

“In the Fire Nation,” she blabs, before she can stop herself, “they always talk about how we’re this… this great civilisation, and how everyone else needs us to, I don’t know, share our greatness, or whatever.” She pauses, watching Glimmer and Bow’s stunned expressions; stunned at her sudden unabashed admission, she supposes, rather than the fact itself. “But you have all shown me a kindness I’ve never seen.”

They exchange a glance. Glimmer is still cautious (again, rightly so, Adora thinks) but quite a bit softer than she’s been wont to be over the time they’ve known one another. “So… how did you end up here?”

“I’m… I’m the Avatar. I’d, uh, known, I guess, for a long time. But they found out, and they wanted me to… they wanted me to be, like, some sort of weapon.” And she tells them everything. About never knowing her parents, about how they died in the war. About growing up in the military (but not about Catra). About finding out, or, she supposes, figuring it out, many years ago, and keeping it a secret (but not about Catra). About the news from Weaver, and running away, about having absolutely no clue what to do next, where to go (but not that she doesn’t know who she is, or what she wants, or what’s right — and certainly not about Catra). So maybe not _everything_ , but enough. 

In return, they tell her who they are. Not that Bow had hidden much, other than his being a fighter, that he couldn’t stand by and watch as the Fire Nation took their homes and their loved ones, that he keeps this secret because his dads wouldn’t understand (or, he doesn’t think they would). He explains that, though he’s from Mara, Glimmer and himself are there on Earth Kingdom business, not a personal visit. 

Glimmer, meanwhile, tells Adora that she’s an Earth Kingdom Princess, that her mother is Earth Queen, that she hails from the impenetrable city of Ba Sing Se. She’s being more open than ever, now, showing her frustration (just because the walls have never been broken before doesn’t mean we’re not at risk the longer this war goes on, she says), but not just that. She’s full of hope, and passion, her stubborn week-long almost-silence morphing before Adora’s eyes into a steadfast, unshakeable commitment to her cause, to her people. What about being proactive, says Glimmer, forging alliances, building collective strength, pooling resources? Adora can’t help but admire the transformation — or, not a transformation at all, she supposes, but a window into who Glimmer really is — and she begins to feel an affinity with her right away, just as she had with Bow. 

“I have to admit,” she says, after some time, “I feel ashamed, and— and I feel _angry_. They lied to us.”

Glimmer and Bow exchange a glance once again, but this time it isn’t secretive, or strained. 

“Adora,” says Glimmer, making full, wholehearted eye contact with her at last, “would you— would you be interested in coming with us? You’re the _Avatar_ , and—”

“What Glimmer _means_ to say,” Bow hisses, elbowing her, “is that you’re not alone and you don’t— you have a place with us. If, you know, you want it.”

Adora looks at them both. She has a million questions, a million scenarios in her head emerging left and right and everywhere, _viscerally_ imagined, and — she breathes. She’s… she needs to put things right. So she nods. “Count me in.”

Before Adora can begin to wonder about Catra again — this time with more clarity, no burden of secrecy on her shoulders — she runs out of time. Her best friend shows up in Mara of her own accord, accompanied by a small group of their old classmates, kids who had put up with their shenanigans (and sometimes helped them orchestrate said shenanigans), kids they’d shared meals, lockers, birthdays, jokes, victories and injuries with: Lonnie, Kyle and Rogelio. The latter three are in Fire Nation army uniform (looking a little ill-fitting on Kyle in particular), but not Catra. Instead she dons a deep red choli and salwar, allowing for unimpeded range of movement, while the black and gold accents of the cloth, along with the golden bands around her biceps and the golden headpiece in her half-up topknot, betray elegance, importance, status — a promotion. Not one that Weaver would have given willingly, so this has to have come from the General’s superior. Adora’s breath catches in her throat, wracked with guilt, and — well, she doesn’t want to think about the other stuff. Not now.

Catra is too lithe, too agile, too quick to be weighed down by armour. She had never felt comfortable in her uniform, Adora remembers — she’d take every chance she had to modify it or eschew it completely, much to General Weaver’s chagrin. It demonstrated not only disrespect for authority, Weaver said, but the great nation itself. Adora feels a flicker of hope alight in her chest, and holds the flame where it is; she knows she’ll need it. She knows she’s hurt Catra, badly, but she knows she can’t go back to the Fire Nation. 

Adora feels Glimmer’s hand on her shoulder, and removes it, gently, after a brief and (hopefully) reassuring squeeze. Her new friend (she hopes?) is cursing, wondering what in the world the Fire Nation are doing here, and saying something about de-escalating the situation. Adora interrupts her.

“I know— them. They must be looking for me.” 

“Well, we can’t let them have you, Adora! You’ve got a look in your eye like you’re about to do something really stupid. Let us handle this, stay hidden.”

“No, Glimmer, I know them, maybe I can talk to—

“For god’s sake, Adora, this is no time for—

“Stop!” Bow steps in-between them. “Why don’t we _all_ go? That way Adora can try to talk to her, uh,” he looks searchingly at her, “friends? And if it goes sour, you and I can step in.”

Adora nods. Glimmer looks unconvinced. “Bow, we can’t let them know the Avatar is here. We— we can’t.”

“I’ve got to try,” says Adora. “They’re— I’ve got to try. I know what the risk is, I’m willing to take it.” 

Glimmer soaks in what Adora imagines is a pathetic, pleading expression. She must find something that speaks to her, though, as after a long moment, she nods.

“Hey, Adora.”

Catra doesn’t look awfully well. She always had trouble sleeping, but her eyes are redder, darker and heavier than she’s ever seen them. She doesn’t smile — she doesn’t look happy to see Adora at all. Adora knows she deserves that.

“Catra,” she breathes. It’s only been so many days since she’s said her name aloud but it already feels strange. Like they’ve both already changed so much — not too much, she hopes. She asked to speak to Catra alone and she was granted this; Bow and Glimmer offered up their quarters for the meeting. She followed Catra inside, looking at her hands, trying not to think about how easy it used to be to hold them. Or Lonnie, Kyle, Rogelio. Their hurt faces. 

“I’m sure you know why we’re here,” Catra says, cutting straight to the chase. “They want you back in the Fire Nation. They want…” her eyes narrowed, “the Avatar.”

Adora’s mouth is bone dry. She swallows. “What the Fire Nation is doing… what they’re really doing… I can’t be a part of that any more, Catra.” She tries to catch her mismatched eyes, but she won’t give. “It’s wrong. They’ve been— they’ve been lying, manipulating us. They want us to think we’re helping people, but we’re—”

“Yes, Adora,” Catra drawls. “I don’t have all day, and frankly I’m not interested in your little identity crisis. Are you coming home, or not?”

Catra is finally meeting her eyes. Adora swallows, again, tries to steady her breathing. Home? What is that? Is it a place, or—

“You can come with me, Catra,” she says, reaching for her hand. Catra evades the movement swiftly, before they can touch. She looks angry. She looks like lightning. 

“ _Fine_ ,” says Catra, pushing her hair from her face. She breathes deeply. “Fine. Next time won’t be so easy.”

Before Adora can ask what she means, ask her _why,_ a sharp blue light and cacophonous thunder knocks the door from its hinges, and Catra is gone. When Adora runs outside, Mara’s wooden form looks down upon her — ashen and scarred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is my first foray back into any kind of fiction in a very long time. very keen to hear your thoughts throughout the process!  
> i don't have a very coherent schedule for this story, i'm both at uni and working a full-time job, so it really just depends on when i have the time and energy for it. i hope that isn't off-putting for folks. but it's already been really fun! i hope you're as excited as i am for more.


	2. Chapter 2

As Adora gazes out over the water, their ferry inching ever closer to the great city of Ba Sing Se — great even in the estimation of the _superior_ Fire Nation — she thinks of Catra. She’s becoming used to it, to Catra’s not being here, but still very much _here_. She supposes when you spend your whole life with someone, everything is bound to make you think of them; what they would say, what they would do. Catra would probably be terrified of crossing water, of being in a vehicle _surrounded_ by water; she’d probably rather be ripped apart by platypus bears than go _anywhere_ in a boat, and she’d probably make a point of saying so. She’d probably declare no city, no matter how great, could be worth it. And General Weaver would—

Adora swallows, and looks for her new companions. They aren’t far away, but they seem to be having a private conversation: Glimmer looks distressed, and Bow’s hands are on her shoulders, his face full of sympathy. He catches Adora looking, and before she can pretend she’d been looking over his shoulder, he beckons her over. Tentatively, she complies.

“Hey, Adora,” he says. “Are you okay?”

Bow is perceptive; she’s learned very quickly there’s little she can hide from him, but that he won’t pry if you don’t want him to. And she definitely doesn’t want him to right now, so she only nods. She’d rather focus on helping Glimmer: something she _can_ do.

“What’s up?” she asks.

When Glimmer doesn’t speak, Bow explains. “She’s just nervous to see her mum.”

“I’m nervous to tell my mum we have the Avatar and the Fire Nation has some crazy _lightning bender_ on our tails,” Adora winces at that, “because she doesn’t really like it when things don’t go according to plan. Like, Mara Island was meant to be a chilled out patrol, she just wanted me and Bow out of her hair. But now…”

Adora, too, puts a hand on Glimmer’s shoulder. Since the events on Mara, and the time they’ve had together on their journey to Ba Sing Se, Glimmer has grown to trust her, and this kind of touch is normal, now. Welcomed, even.

“Hey, things might not have gone according to plan, but this is a _huge_ deal, in a good way. This could turn the tide of the war, and _you’re_ the one bringing this to her. No way she won’t be proud of you, right?”

Glimmer offers Adora a small smile, in gratitude.

“I hope so.”

When they arrive in Ba Sing Se, Adora is certainly awestruck, but not as she expected to be. On the approach, she can see why the city is renowned as impenetrable — its outer walls are a sight to behold — but its _inner_ walls beg the question of whether a city should be impenetrable to its own citizens. And even then, even the outer walls make her think of the refugees outside, left starving and destitute by the very structures that keep the Fire Nation out. Not for the first time on her journey (and far from the last), she finds herself losing grip of what she had previously taken as given, what she'd taken unconsciously, even, for a fundamental truth. She doesn’t dare vocalise it — certainly not on her way to see the Earth Queen — but what good are walls, anyway? She wonders what Catra would say. Probably that rules are meant to be broken, so why not walls?

This train of thought leaves her underwhelmed at the gilded, deep green gates of the palace, of the throne room, of the throne itself. When Glimmer introduces her to Queen Angella, she tries to re-centre her thoughts. Remember why you’re here, Adora. One thing at a time.

“Your majesty,” she says, pressing her fist to her palm, bowing deeply. 

“I suppose I should count it a blessing that the Avatar is here,” she says, “even if she _is_ from the Fire Nation.”

The Queen stands, leaving her throne to walk towards Adora. Even if she weren’t an incredibly tall woman, her very _presence_ fills the room. Adora is compelled to lift her bowed head to meet the Queen's suspicious gaze.

“How can we be certain that you are to be trusted?”

Adora thinks, for a moment, about all the things she could say in an effort to prove herself. She feels Bow and Glimmer gazing on, she feels Glimmer’s hope and trepidation. She wishes she knew exactly what the perfect thing to say would be, how to construct the perfect outcome, the one where the Queen trusts her immediately and Glimmer is happy because her mother is proud of her and—

“You can’t be certain, your majesty. But I left everything and everyone I’ve ever— known. I see, now, that what the Fire Nation is doing is _wrong_ , and I’m here to do whatever it takes to _end_ it.”

Then Adora bows her head again, and there is silence. Adora _hates_ silence, it gives her time to dwell on her thoughts. And now she’s isn’t sure she said the right thing, and quickly she _knows_ she’s fucked it up, but what is she supposed to do now, how does she fix it, how does she—

“You can call me Angella.”

Adora blinks. She looks back up at the Queen — at Angella — and she can see a little uncertainty in her eyes, still, but she’s smiling at her, and Adora smiles back.

“Thank you so much, your majesty, I promise I won’t let you down, I promise—”

“Now, now, Adora,” she interjects, raising her hand, “let’s not make promises we might not be able to keep. Let’s just do our best, and figure it out, yes?” She pauses. “Together.”

Adora grins. “Yes— yes, Angella.”

So Bow and Glimmer are to accompany Adora as she sets off across the world, mastering all four elements. Before they depart, Angella says she has a gift for Adora, in the stables. She personally escorts her there, to reveal the most majestic creature Adora has ever seen in her life: a _gigantic_ snow white stallion — about twice the size of his peers — with a mane of burnt gold, and wings every colour Adora has ever imagined. Without thinking, she embraces Angella like a daughter thankful to her mother; before she recognises the inappropriateness of the gesture, Angella holds her in place, and squeezes her back. Glimmer and her mother bicker, and exchange loving words, and before they leave Adora thinks how full her heart is, how she has never felt more surrounded by love.

As Adora gazes out across the clouds, Bow and Glimmer poring over a map behind her, she thinks of Catra. She thinks of her blue and yellow-green eyes, so full of fire and of lightning, and how sometimes — in the past — they were all Adora had ever known of love, and she thinks of how — only so many weeks ago — they seemed ready to kill her right where she stood. She wonders if Catra is okay, if anyone is looking out for her there, protecting her from— 

She swallows. “Guys, let’s not waste any more time possibly flying in the wrong direction, okay?” 

“Okay, okay,” says Bow, yanking the map from Glimmer’s hands. “It’s the Northern temple we need to head to,” he says, pointing to Adora’s left. She pulls Swift Wind’s — her new steed’s — reigns appropriately. Glimmer is protesting, but she pointedly ignores her: she trusts Bow’s judgement on this kind of thing, he just knows so much more about history and world affairs and all that.

“ _Fine_ ,” she hears Glimmer concede, at last, “but don’t come crying to me if there’s nothing there! The air nomads were _wiped out_ , Adora, even you must know this!”

“Yeah,” Adora murmurs, feeling sick at the thought, at how long she believed the Air Nation were ‘defeated in battle’, “but I think Bow’s right. Maybe we’ll, like, find something that’ll help me master airbending. There’s an order to this whole thing, a right way to do it.” 

“I still say we just go straight to the North pole, but whatever,” Glimmer huffs.

And Adora wonders what Catra would say. Don't believe everything they taught us in the academy, probably. And, well— she’d be right.

It’s funny, Catra thinks, that her whole life she’d dreamed of the Fire Lord’s throne room. Not of sitting on the throne, even, but simply being inside; _invited_ , treated as an equal, recognised, for _anything_. In those dreams, she had stood by Adora’s side, and they had smiled at one another with topknots adorned in gold. Today, she is here _because_ Adora is gone. And that makes her feel a little sick, but she pushes it down. Adora _left_ , after all. 

She kneels before the Fire Lord, his throne flanked by a sickly looking son, on one side, and General Weaver, on the other.

“Your highness, she is _useless_ without Adora,” says Shadow Weaver (of course). “She lacks discipline, she is disobedient, and she lacks commitment to our nation. She _always_ has.”

“Father,” Prince Hordak interjects, “I believe General Weaver is allowing her _a_ _ffinity_ for the Avatar cloud her judgement. Cadet Catra is the _only_ viable option to lead this mission: she knows the Avatar better than anyone, and she has offered herself to this end, demonstrating clear dedication, clear understanding of the mission's importance, and of the role in which she can most effectively serve her nation.”

Catra finds it all very amusing. She says nothing, but of course Shadow Weaver is right about one thing: she couldn’t give a damn about the Fire Nation. No, she really hasn't ever given a damn about the Fire Nation. But she _does_ give a damn about Adora, and even if that’s hard and painful and really fucking confusing right now, maybe if she focuses on _that_ she won’t just want to throw herself into a live volcano any more. So she allows Hordak to spin his lies, to save her, to give her a reason to live. 

“Silence,” says the Fire Lord at last, ending their row in an instant. “No _cadet_ will lead the most important mission in the history of our nation.”

He rises from his throne, descends towards her. Catra feels her heart in her throat, ready to leave her body, feels Shadow Weaver and Hordak’s anticipation. She is silent as the man before her ponders what role she is to play in his game. But she rises from her knees, and looks him in the eye, to stare directly at her fate.

“No cadet,” he says, his fingers ghosting upon her cheek, “but a captain.”

Catra blinks. And then she can’t help but smile, watching Shadow Weaver squirm. She reaches her hand out to accept the ceremonial headpiece, the proof of her rank, which Horde Prime places in her hand. Catra watches his eyes glisten mischievously as he returns to his throne.

“Prince Hordak, Captain Catra will act under your direct command. General Weaver… I suggest you get your _personal_ feelings in order before you _deign_ to make another suggestion to me.”

Catra realised she probably ought to say something.

“I am humbled, your majesty. It is my honour to serve you.”

She sees in the Fire Lord’s eyes that he is amused by her. As she leaves the throne room, she resolves it doesn’t matter. She is using them as much as they are using her, after all.

Not long after she has returned to her old barracks, she tries getting all of her hair up in a topknot and fails miserably — there’s just too damn much of it — so she switches tactics, leaves most of it alone and ties half of it up and adorns her Captain’s headpiece. She looks at herself in the mirror and is satisfied: half-up looks good on her, she still looks like _Catra_ , but higher up in the world, not some stuck-up military jerk with a stick in her ass. She gets her first deployment in a flash, with news of Adora’s whereabouts just arrived, and introduces Lonnie, Kyle and Rogelio to her new authority. Lonnie, in particular, looks none too pleased, but they’re all four of them pretty hurt and angry about this whole ordeal with Adora too, so Lonnie puts up with being under Catra’s command and Catra lets her insolence slide. And then— well you know what happens next.

When Catra and her team return from the excursion, none of them really speak. There’s a silent agreement between them that they won’t tell Prince Hordak — just this once — that they offered Adora the chance to return willingly, and she refused. They collectively hope that capturing Mara will be enough for him.

Catra soon learns that Prince Hordak has assigned another captain to her team. It's a statement that she does not have his trust, that he feels she requires guidance or supervision, like a child in need of a babysitter. She’s _angry_ but she doesn’t have much choice, so she goes along with it. Suffice to say her co-captain is… not what she expected.

“Catra! It’s so nice to meet you, wow. I’m Scorpia, I’m _so_ excited to be working with you, gosh.”

The woman is tall, broad shouldered, strong, with white hair, thighs that look like they could crush your head, and arms that look like they could lift ten times your weight without breaking a sweat. But lord, when she opens her mouth, she turns out to be both tentative and full of genuine enthusiasm, warm and soft and loud all at once. It’s hard for Catra to say whether she likes her — or could like her — at this stage, she’s just _a lot_ , and Catra has a _splitting_ headache right now. She’ll deal with her later. 

Catra retires to her bedroom: her _own_ bedroom, a new perk of being a Captain. And it’s funny, she thinks, that all her life she’d dreamed of leaving those barracks, of a room of her own— well. It wasn’t just her own, in those dreams. As she closes her eyes and tries to sleep, Catra pushes down the thought. It’s funny, she thinks, the dreams she shared with Adora are coming true, one by one. But only half-true.


	3. Chapter 3

“We’re here,” says Adora, and her posture straightens up immediately. She feels a stirring from Bow, whose sleeping head rests on her back, and Glimmer, whose sleeping head rests on his.

“We are?” Glimmer murmurs, her voice heavy with exhaustion. 

“Yeah.” 

Adora smiles weakly. She’s tired, too, but restless, somehow. Keeping one hand steady on Swift Wind’s reigns, she uses the other to point ahead at an elegant structure emerging from amongst the clouds. Yellow and green spires are woven into the mountain-side, adorned with the gentle cover of snow. The structure seems to exist in cooperation, in peace and friendship with the mountain, and not at its expense. It is verdant, and teeming with life, yet still and empty. Desolate, even. It’s bittersweet. 

Adora feels her pulse, feels her veins throb under her skin. What if she’s taken them here for nothing? What if the air nomads are really gone — not just them, but their culture, their history, everything but this crumbling building? What if they can’t learn anything here, because she doesn’t know what to make of it, or what they’re even looking for? What if she can’t master airbending? And without all four elements, how is she supposed to—

Bow puts his hand on her shoulder, gives it a gentle squeeze. She breathes deeply, and guides Swift Wind into descent. 

When the three of them alight at the air temple, Adora is immediately relieved. Riding a pegasus for so long is no easy work; her legs are sore and she feels incredibly stiff. She’s too full of adrenaline to rest, but after removing Swift Wind’s saddle and his reins, she immediately begins stretching, and Bow joins her. Glimmer groans.

“How do you guys have the energy for that right now?” She promptly lays on the ground. “I can’t move.”

Bow laughs. “You barely had to do anything! Adora did most of the work.”

“Whatever,” says Glimmer, yawning. Swift Wind sits down, huffing, almost as though he knows his efforts are going unrecognised. Adora gives him a sympathetic pet, and promises as soon as they find any apples or any other treats for him she’ll give him a bushel full. As he closes his eyes to rest, Glimmer pulls herself over to him, resting her head on his back. “I’ll watch Swift Wind. You guys go explore or whatever. I’ll catch up later.”

“Dunno how much watching you can do while you’re asleep,” says Adora. Glimmer ignores her. Turning to Bow — and thankful that he wants to accompany her, because she really doesn’t want to do this on her own — she smiles. “Alright, let’s go.”

As they explore the temple, Adora grows more and more uneasy. Bow is usually a font of knowledge — especially when it comes to historical and cultural sites — but he has very little to say, because no one really knows anything about the Air Nomads. In school, back in the Fire Nation, they’d told Adora and her peers that the Air Nomads were defeated in battle. That they were weak people, and weak people didn’t deserve to exist. Adora feels sick just thinking about it.

They pass by what they can only speculate to be playgrounds, kitchens, bedrooms — half decayed, half destroyed, but still recognisable. Just mundane, everyday things, marked with decay, and fire, violence. At this alone Adora feels full to bursting with sorrow, and with remorse. 

Eventually, they reach a chamber in the heart of the temple with a strange lock on an enormous door. Bow steps forward, and examines it; Adora waits patiently, knowing he’s bound to have more luck with this than her.

“I think this door opens with airbending,” he says, at last, and Adora feels a little dumb for not thinking of that sooner. She considers the winding pipes, the small mechanisms which could only be designed to make use of the element. “Just airbend into these two holes,” Bow gestures towards them, “and let’s see what happens.”

Adora isn’t awfully confident in her airbending skill, but she nods. Surely blowing a gust of wind into a pipe shouldn’t be a problem, right? She’s airbended before. Not with particular grace or skill, and not always intentionally, but she _has_ airbended before. 

Just as Adora moves to assume a stance — she doesn’t know what an airbender stance is meant to look like, so she simply assumes her position for breathing exercises — the door stirs and creaks. It opens to reveal a person — a person! — looking very alarmed and very frightened. Adora isn’t able to get a good look at them before their hands move in a flurry, pulling at the very air around them, and suddenly they’re — skating? gliding? — away at an incredible speed.

Bow and Adora exchange a glance, and immediately run after them.

“Hey, wait! We aren’t going to hurt you!”

The chase sees them winding back through the halls of the temple, sometimes watching the stranger glide across walls and even the ceiling, until they reach the courtyard again. Glimmer is still asleep, but on the floor; Swift Wind has clearly been up and about, and is looking at Adora expectantly, with a stick in his mouth. What, Adora thinks, does her giant horse want to play fetch, and _now_ of all times? Can nothing be _normal_ anymore? 

“Not now, boy,” she yells, zipping past him.

Bow and Adora chase the stranger to the end of the courtyard, where the edge of the temple meets the mountainside, and the stranger takes the staff they’d been holding between their arm and their ribcage — why hadn’t Adora noticed that? — and in one deft movement unleashes what look like wings, or sails. Then she jumps off the mountainside, and she _flies_. 

“By the— you know what, maybe just take me back, maybe Fire Nation propaganda wasn’t so bad— _what_ do you want, Swift Wind?”

As Bow surveys the mountainside, supposedly trying to figure out some kind of way around the unfortunate dilemma of being unable to literally fly, Swift Wind nudges Adora with his head and shakes the stick at her. And that’s when she notices it isn’t just a stick, it’s a staff, just like the one that stranger has. Of course, Adora thinks, it isn’t flying, it’s _airbending_ . She takes the staff from the horse’s mouth and shakes it unceremoniously until it opens, and then she takes a deep breath. Surely flying off a cliff face should be fine, right? She’s airbended before. Not always intentionally, but she _has_ airbended before.

“Adora,” Bow interjects, in his low, fatherly tone, “what are you— Adora!”

 _Air is the element of freedom._ The thought comes unbidden to her, almost as though she’s heard it somewhere before. Adora mimics what she can see of the stranger’s grip as well as she can, and leaps without a moment’s hesitation. And perhaps it is her freedom from doubt in that moment — the knowledge that this could be her one chance to meet an airbender, to find an airbending master — that allows her to hone into the currents of air which crash onto her body, to push and pull at them until her and the wind and the sky are in harmony, and she simply glides, like it were nothing, like it was meant to be. Adora almost forgets her task, her heart full, yet empty — unburdened. It lasts about another moment, before another invasive thought appears. She has wondered, before, what Catra would think of flying, if she’d like it as much as she likes climbing, and heights. But in this moment she wonders if Catra will ever know what it is like to be free. And she wonders if she, herself, will ever know, if this is only a taste. She feels like she could cry.

“You’re an airbender?” A voice rings out in the ever-closing distance.

“Yes,” Adora says. “Just like you! Please, I don’t want to hurt you, I just want to talk!”

Adora swallows. Her heart pounds in her ears, punctuating the gentle, guileless wind. What if this is it? What if this is the last airbender, and she’s ruined everything, and they won’t want to teach her, and she can never learn airbending, and she’ll never be able to defeat the Fire Lord, and—

The stranger suddenly makes a 180 degree turn, and glides past Adora towards the courtyard. There, they land on their feet with practiced grace, and are still. Adora follows.

Bow and Swift Wind join them, and Glimmer too, having woken amidst the commotion. 

“I take a nap, and suddenly there are living airbenders, and Adora can fly?”

The stranger laughs, if nervously. Now that they are still, Adora is able to take a good look at them. A tall, skinny woman in yellow and orange robes. Her skin is brown and freckled, and her face is kind, if worried. Most striking of all are the light blue arrows etched into her skin, one on her forehead, one winding across each of her forearms to end on her hands. Though the stranger seems soft, she also stands tall, and proud. And it must take incredible strength, Adora thinks, to be tattooed like that, all over your body, if the stories are true. 

“I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you,” she says, “We tend to err on the side of caution here. I’m Perfuma.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Perfuma,” Bow replies. Adora is glad, to be honest, that he has taken the lead — she feels a little overwhelmed. “You said ‘we’?”

“Yeah,” Perfuma says, still clearly nervous. She turns to Adora. “These are your friends?” When Adora nods, she continues. “There aren’t any other airbenders left, but a few who still come to this place for pilgrimage. Some have decided to stay, to become air acolytes. They help me tend to what’s left of the temple, to try to preserve and even rebuild what we can. But mostly we keep to the inner sanctum, and focus on meditation, as it’s safest. Only an airbender can enter.” She pauses, and her nerves seem almost to have dissipated. Her face is full of joy, now, and hope. “But now you’re here! A fellow airbender!” It’s contagious, Adora thinks, a smile spreading to her own face. But it’s painful too. 

“Adora’s the Avatar,” Glimmer explains. “We thought maybe she could learn something about airbending here, but we had no idea we’d find any _actual_ airbenders. I thought they had all been wiped out. It is truly an honour.” 

Perfuma’s smile turns melancholy. “Yes, as far as I’m aware I’m the last one. The Fire Nation… destroyed everyone. I was a child when they came here, and I... was not on the temple grounds when it happened. So I survived, and returned to find my people massacred.” 

Adora feels, again, that nagging sense of guilt, making itself at home in the pit of her stomach. But she doesn’t want to make this about her, so she ignores it. Again, she finds herself speechless, and Bow saves her skin.

“I am so sorry, Perfuma. I can’t even imagine.”

Perfuma shakes her head. “I do what I can to preserve this place, to keep the history of my people alive.” She turns to Adora again, and her smile is honest and loud and full of joy again. “Now, the Avatar wants to master airbending, I imagine? I think I can help you with that. And that… that gives me real hope.”

In the years to come, there are many things that Catra will regret. Things which she regretted right away, in fact, but almost always stifled. She won’t be sure why she kept doing it, when she knew it was wrong — maybe it just seemed like it was what she deserved, to fall further and further, to hate herself more and more, to feel like if she vanished in instant it would be _fine_ because that would be her just dessert.

But none of that is clear, now. When Catra wakes up, she feels empty. When she looks in the mirror, she isn’t sure who stares back. When she thinks of Shadow Weaver, or Adora, she feels so overwhelmed. There’s a lump in her throat that’s stuck, just so, and she wishes she could claw it out. Her head always hurts, like she wants to cry and it’s just stuck there, the pain that might leave her body if she could only scream, or break something.

Maybe in any other circumstance, her and Scorpia could have been friends. But Catra doesn’t know why, everything about her that’s sweet, and patient, and thoughtful rubs her entirely the wrong way. Maybe because she feels like she doesn’t deserve it. Maybe she’s afraid if she trusts her she’ll just leave her, let her down, like everyone does. It’s all just noise in her head, and it’s so loud, and the only thing she really recognises is her anger. So she holds onto it.

“Are you sure? There aren’t any airbenders left, are there? Why would they head to the Northern Air Temple?”

“Because,” Catra hisses, “even if it’s hopeless, she’s gonna try. There’s an order to learning the elements or whatever, and if there’s anything Adora loves, it’s rules.” 

“Right, right,” Scorpia concedes, “that makes sense. But how are we going to get up there? How are _they_ even going to get up there?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know how they’re gonna do it? _We’re_ asking Prince Hordak for one of those fancy new airships, now we’re under his direct command.”

“Right, yeah, of course, that makes sense,” says Scorpia. “Gosh, you’re so smart Catra. It’s so great to be working with you. Gosh.”

Catra sighs. “I’m going to my room. I have a headache. Speak to Hordak about the airship and tell me when it’s done.”

“Yes, of course captain!” Scorpia salutes, apparently forgetting she’s Catra’s co-captain and not a cadet. She still looks just nauseatingly happy, but concerned, too. “Can I get you anything? Ooh, I can make you a cup of tea? It can really help with headaches, I make a really good—”

“Scorpia I’m _fine_ , just leave me alone and do as I say.” 

Catra ignores the crestfallen look, and storms off. She decides she needs some fresh air instead, and starts heading toward the roof, passing through the locker room on the way. 

“Catra.” 

She stops, looks at Lonnie. Her arms are folded, and Kyle stands beside her, looking pathetic as ever. Rogelio is with them too, but his face betrays nothing.

“Lonnie.” 

She takes this as an invitation to step forward.

“You think you’re better than us now, but remember we know what you did on Mara, and we know what Prince Hordak will think of it. Adora isn’t here to protect you anymore.”

Catra scowls. “I don’t need Adora,” she says, “And if I were you I’d watch who I threaten, _cadet_.”

And when Catra reaches the roof and tries to breathe it isn’t clear to her then, but someday it will be. She has to hold onto something, and all she can see is red, and all she can feel is anger. So she holds on, for dear life.


	4. Chapter 4

Glimmer can’t help but feel strange in the temple, out of place. She’s so used to city walls, and crowds upon crowds, so the stillness of the place is unsettling. The feeling still lingers, even after so much time spent there.

While Adora learns airbending from Perfuma, Bow and Glimmer spend most of their time with the air acolytes. There aren’t many, and they don’t speak much, not unless spoken to, not unless asked direct questions. If they’re uncomfortable with the new company, it doesn’t show. The silence and the solitude are, perhaps, things they’ve just grown accustomed to. Her earthbender’s sensibilities don’t like flying — find it weirdly exhausting — and don’t really get along with this airbender philosophy either.

Glimmer doesn’t have the patience for meditation, as much as she tries. When she closes her eyes, she just feels like she’s wasting time. Precious time she could be using to learn, to plan, to figure out how to end this war. She keeps thinking of her mother, waiting for her. Her mother, expecting her to do something, to achieve something, to prove herself. And she thinks of her people, in Ba Sing Se, on Mara, across the Earth Kingdom. They can’t afford for her to sit around meditating, to detach themselves from the world, with the Fire Nation on their doorsteps. In their homes, some of them, taking their bread and their land, killing anyone that gets in her way. No, Glimmer is restless. She has to do something.

So she’s given up on meditation and all of that, and shifts her attention to learning what she can about the Fire Nation raid, here at the Northern Air Temple. Anything that could teach her about their strategy, their thinking, anything that could betray a weakness. She doesn’t have much luck with that, though; the air nomads apparently didn’t really keep books or record written histories, preserving their way of life through an oral tradition instead. The air acolytes don’t know much of what happened, or they don’t want to talk about it, of both. Perfuma probably does, but she’s busy teaching Adora. And maybe, Glimmer concedes, it might not be tactful or, even, human, to force her to talk about her trauma for a war strategy. Glimmer doesn’t think she would, anyway, because the more she gets to know Perfuma the more she hears things like “there’s always a peaceful solution”. As much as she wishes such a thing could be true, Glimmer just doesn’t believe it, and she doesn’t understand how Perfuma could, either, especially after what happened here. In any case, no dice on that one.

So she figures she should learn more about the Avatar, instead. It’s something the air acolytes are willing, even excited to talk about. Mara was the last Avatar — that she knew — an earthbender who lived through the rise of the Fire Nation to an empire and did everything in her power to stop it. The way they’d told the story to her growing up, Mara had been killed ruthlessly by the Fire Lord in an epic battle in the Fire Nation capital.

But the air acolytes tell a different story. They tell the story of a young earthbender girl — in times of peace, when people could come and go as they pleased between the nations — and her best friend, the princess of the Fire Nation. They tell a story of love and friendship, turned to heartbreak and betrayal, and ending in flames. When Mara confronted her oldest and dearest friend — turned Fire Lord Hope — she simply could not take her life. Perhaps she was weak, or selfish. Or perhaps she saw good in her, still, and perhaps that made her strong. In any case, Hope struck Mara down, and not long after, she took her own life.

It isn’t a pleasant or an easy version to hear. Glimmer can’t help but wonder how much of it is true; but she also knows fine well she’s grown up admiring Mara, whose heroic exploits lull Earth Kingdom children to sleep at night. Now she doesn’t know what to feel. She’s just… sad.

It is with these thoughts that she finds Bow, peering over a balcony into the courtyard, where Adora diligently follows Perfuma’s every command (so gentle they’re more like requests). Glimmer wonders what  _ she _ would do if Bow became a megalomaniac tyrant, responsible for unspeakable violence on a monumental scale. She wonders if she could take his life, if she needed to. When he catches wind of her footsteps and turns to face her, with his smile that feels like home, she decides she’d rather not know. She speaks first.

“It’s weird, isn’t it? I mean, we all knew the Avatar was going to be born into the Fire Nation. And the more I get to know her the more I like her. But I still— it’s still weird.”

Bow nods, returning his gaze to the courtyard, to the Avatar in question. Glimmer follows suit. Adora’s face is so screwed up in concentration she looks like an angry blonde prune. Glimmer smiles.

“People are complicated,” Bow says. “And when someone’s been told the same thing their entire life, it’s not all their fault, you know. It’s important that, when you realise you were wrong, you take responsibility. And that’s what I love about her.”

Glimmer wholeheartedly agrees, of course. But what does it mean to take responsibility, she wonders, thinking of Hope. Probably not leaving the ones you’ve hurt behind, without trying to put things right. Is that harsh? She doesn’t know.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Bow asks.

“I found… something. I’ll tell you all about it later. And Bow?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Bow looks a little surprised at first, but then he grins, and Glimmer feels safe.

“I love you too.”

Learning to master airbending is a strange experience for Adora, and for a few reasons. The first being that Perfuma is a gentle and patient teacher, not a shadow that breathes down your neck and strikes fear into your heart. The second being that, in some ways, it’s a lot like firebending — quick, agile movements, light stances, focusing on control and breathing, that kind of thing — so she gets the hang of it pretty quickly. Well, the physical side, at least. The third is that, as much as she excels at the physical side of airbending, Adora struggles immensely with the spiritual. She’s never been to the spirit world — much to Perfuma’s surprise — and their attempts at meditating there have consistently had abysmal results. The whole clearing her mind thing is near impossible; her brain is constantly working at a hundred miles a minute, poring over everything she’s done wrong and how much she needs to practice and how the fate of the world rests on her shoulders and if she can’t even get to the spirit world what kind of Avatar is she and she needs to train more and practice more because of everything she’s done wrong — ad infinitum. Glimmer’s been having similar troubles with meditation, she knows, but Glimmer has the luxury of giving up. Adora  _ can’t  _ give up, or everyone is doomed.

So she has her reservations when Perfuma says it’s time for her to see the inner sanctum. She hasn’t been allowed in there this whole time (of course, Adora is physically capable of entering anyway if she wanted to, but would never disrespect Perfuma’s wishes). Is she ready? And… what should she be ready for?

She watches Perfuma open the door, with all the grace of a master airbender, and smiles nervously when she beckons her inside.

“Don’t be afraid, Adora. There’s nothing to fear.”

Adora takes a deep breath, and follows her in. The room is… well, huge. The walls around her seem to reach into the sky, if the sky could be seen. There are rows, and rows, and rows of statues everywhere that meets the eye, across the walls on the ground, spiralling into the centre of the room. They are people of all genders, of every nation, standing tall, proud, mighty. And they all feel familiar. It’s not that she recognises their faces, it’s more like some part of her soul stirs, the ghost of times, places, memories, feelings. So many feelings, and yet she isn’t overwhelmed by them. It feels right, like they belong. Like they’re hers. Like… they are her. In itself, though, that’s frightening.

There is one face she recognises, of course. How could she forget her likeness, painted wood with her arms outstretched to protect, to embrace her hometown? Now standing in tatters, charred wood and weeping paint, but still standing. Not this one though — this one is the newest of the statues, meticulously cared for by the devoted acolytes and the last airbender. Mara.

“You know her, don’t you?” 

Adora turns to Perfuma, and shrugs.

“I guess so. I recognise her face.”

“You were her, once.”

Adora looks at Mara’s face. Marks its resolve, and its gentle lines, too. Her likeness is still, but Adora swears she can see her smile, see a glisten in her eye.

“Why are we here?”

“This place is sacred, and teems with spiritual energy. At the very least, you may be able to feel peace here. At best, you can connect with your past lives, even enter the spirit world.” Perfuma offers a reassuring smile in response to Adora’s worried, sceptical look. “You are the Avatar. It may take time, but it will come to you.”

Adora doesn’t really believe it, but she nods. They sit in the centre of the sanctum, assume the appropriate position.

“Now breathe deeply, just as we always do. And focus on Mara. On her face, or anything that feels familiar.”

Adora thinks of Mara’s smile, the one she thought she saw a moment ago, like the statue has given her the lines and her memory has coloured them in. She thinks of that glint in her eyes — maybe a trick of the light, but — suddenly she is struck by a violent wave of sadness. She can’t see anything clearly, only red, and her heart is full — not with of a whole lot of anger, actually, but — of grief. And, completely unbidden, entirely unwelcome, in rush thoughts of Catra. Catra’s squeaky, loud, genuine laugh. Catra’s smile. Catra’s voice, in a whisper, her breath on her ear. Catra’s arms around her, warm and firm. And then her sunken eyes. Her creased brow, her scowl. Lightning bursting from the tips of her black nails and thunder crashing all around her. 

“Hey, Adora.”

When she opens her eyes, it isn’t her. It’s Mara. Mara with her beautiful dark skin and her gentle smile and her sad eyes. Adora is standing near her, in a courtyard she knows all too well. Mara sits on the edge of the turtle duck pond, and beckons her.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for you, Adora.”

“Me too.” She doesn’t know where this comes from, but the moment she hears her own words she knows them to be true. “I could use… I don’t know.”

“I’m here to help you, Adora.” Her face turns serious. “We cannot stay for long, but I know someone who can help you. Go to the Eastern Air Temple, and seek her there.”

“Are there… more airbenders? I already have an airbending teacher.”

“Mastering the elements is important for every Avatar. But it is not all we must know. I failed, Adora, but you might yet redeem me.”

Adora shakes her head. “I don’t understand. Who’s at the Eastern Air Temple? What more do I need to learn? How am I supposed to—”

Suddenly, the earth beneath them shakes. The pond ripples, and the turtle ducks take flight. 

“We are out of time, Adora. Remember to seek Razz at the Eastern Air Temple.” She reaches her arms out, towards her. “Until we meet again.”

“Mara, wait, I—”

“Adora!”

Adora’s eyes flutter open. Perfuma’s hand is on her shoulder, her expression desperate.

“Adora, we need to leave. Now.”

Adora doesn’t hesitate to get to her feet, to follow Perfuma out of the inner sanctum. The door is already wide open, and Bow and Glimmer are standing there.

“What in the world is going on?”

“Fire Nation,” Glimmer says, immediately. “Bow and I got a good look at them from a distance and it seems like it’s only one squad, but there’s no doubt about it. Probably Catra’s bunch.” Glimmer glances at Adora briefly, before turning to Perfuma. “I don’t know if they know about you, or about the air acolytes, but we have to keep you safe. You guys should hide in the inner sanctum.”

Perfuma shakes her head. “I can help! I don’t want you guys risking yourselves on your own.”

Adora puts her hand on Perfuma’s shoulder. “You’re the last airbender, Perfuma. We can’t let anything happen to you.”

“And you’re the Avatar!” she protests.

Adora grins, but her nervousness is palpable still. “Hey, what’s the worst that could happen? If I die I’ll just get reborn, right?”

None of them acknowledge the grim joke, except to look uncomfortable. But Perfuma seems to come to terms with the idea of hiding — probably not because of Adora’s dire attempt at reassurance — and nods. She follows their orders, leaving to gather the acolytes and ensure they’re all safe. Adora turns back to Bow and Glimmer.

“So, uh, what is the plan exactly?”

“We should run, to be honest. If we hide, they tear the place up looking for us. If we fight — well it’s not worth the risk. Keeping the Avatar safe is top priority.”

Adora isn’t sure how to feel about that. Part of her wants to confront Catra, though she doesn’t really know why. Another, more rational part is worried that if they leave, Perfuma and the acolytes will be in danger. 

“What if they can open the door without airbending?”

“It’s possible,” says Bow. “The Fire Nation has been putting a lot of the resources it’s taken from the colonies to use building new weapons. Including explosives.”

“Then we stay,” says Adora, “and fight.”

Glimmer looks nervous. “Uh, okay. I don’t like it, but— you’re right.” She pauses. “Are you sure… you’re okay with that?”

Adora blinks. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, this isn’t going to be like last time. I don’t think they’re gonna let us go. And I know these guys were your friends, so…”

“I’m fine,” Adora snaps. Then, softer, “I’m fine. We don’t have a choice. So let’s do this.”

Catra can’t say she feels certain about this, or anything, necessarily. It’s more that the only things that keep her moving forward are adrenaline, a powerful survival instinct, and unadulterated rage, so she settles for that in lieu of certainty. When she looks upon the Northern Air Temple she doesn’t really feel anything. She isn’t sure if she should or if in any other circumstance she would, but she doesn’t. It was a place once teeming with life, surely. Now it’s desolate, a mere shadow of what it was. It’s sad, she supposes. It’s familiar.

When her squad arrives, Adora and her friends are waiting. Adora now apparently has a fuck off big horse with wings — because of course she does — saddled and reined and ready to take them away as quickly as possible, as soon as possible. The four of them look… determined. This annoys her.

“Hey, Adora.” She turns to Adora’s companions, nodding with fake courtesy. “Sparkles. Arrowhead.”

“Catra,” says Adora. Her brow is furrowed, her forehead wrinkled. Those old stress lines from when she thinks too much, and she can’t sleep.  _ Good _ . “Why are you here?”

“I told you,” she purrs, “there would be a next time. We’re here to capture the Avatar, of course.” She turns to Scorpia. “You and the three musketeers take care of Sparkles and Arrowhead. I’ll handle Adora.”

Scorpia obeys without hesitation, with Kyle, Lonnie and Rogelio following suit. Four on two might hardly seem fair, and maybe the smart thing to do would be to ask for help, but Catra just  _ so _ wants to mess with Adora. To see her squirm. To make her pay.

“Catch me if you can.”

On their way up the cliffside, Catra had caught her eye on what looked like a playground — balls and poles and spinning plates, goals maybe, some kind of airbender game — and right now, this is where she leads Adora. Adora who was always stronger but never faster. Adora who always tripped after her when they played tag, but never cried, and never won. 

Catra leaps nimbly from pole to pole, verily prowling. She watches Adora follow, her movements slower and more deliberate than Catra’s, but her balance so much better than it’s ever been. Catra frowns. She grabs a ball and hurls it at Adora’s head, and watches as Adora beckons the wind around her with a flurry of her hands, shoots the ball straight back without so much as touching it. Catra hisses, circling around her.

“Learned a few new tricks, I see. Now where could you have learned them from?” She watches Adora’s eyes widen. “Maybe she has a teacher, hmm?”

That’s the button which gets Adora to take the offensive, to firebend. Catra jumps out of the way with little strain. She laughs.

“Oh, that’s rich. Making all kinds of new friends, huh, Adora? Even found  _ surviving  _ airbenders! I mean, wow. The mighty Avatar can do just about anything!”

Catra feels that anger pushing up, from the pit of her stomach. She holds it, breathes in. Then she breathes out thunder. Lightning crackles between them, and Adora loses her balance. When Catra stoops to the ground, approaching her slowly, she speaks.

“Catra, please,” she says, “don’t hurt anyone!”

Catra grabs Adora’s tunic, pulls her close enough to see the dark circles under her eyes, to smell her. She smells of fire lilies, still. “Are you kidding? Imagine the look on the Fire Lord’s face when he finds out there are still airbenders out here!”

That’s the button that — well, Catra guesses maybe it wasn’t there before, or maybe it had never been pressed. Because suddenly Adora’s eyes are glowing, and her face is stone cold, and it’s honestly terrifying. A gust of wind slaps Catra’s entire body, sends her hurtling ten feet just above the ground before her back smashes into another pole. As Adora’s body slowly lifts into the air, her somewhat clumsy use of airbending now a frightening display of control over the element, she opens her mouth. What comes out is not Adora’s voice. Or at least, it is not hers alone.

“You will  _ never  _ touch them.”

Catra knows when she’s beat, and that trusty survival instinct propels her forward.

“Scorpia,” she yells, bounding into the courtyard. Adora isn’t even chasing after her now, and somehow that’s worse. She’s just lifting herself higher and higher, the earth beneath her billowing, the wind around her shaking. “We gotta go!”

Scorpia, Lonnie, Kyle and Rogelio are all none too pleased to see what Adora’s become, and are more than happy to comply. Even Sparkles and Arrowhead seem shaken. As her squad retreats down the cliffside, towards their group of komodo rhinos, Catra thinks of the immense display of power she has just seen, but she can’t get rid of the scent of fire lilies.


End file.
